Regret
by Alena Blackheart
Summary: Kon's been mad at Tim before, but never like this. *Never* like this. And Tim can only blame himself. . . Warning: Slash.
1. Regret

This is a random idea I got. . .Right before. . .a Math test I think. . .? I finally got around to finishing it. Yay random time excess due to super long car trips! ~ For the record, this is pre-reboot. I'm still in denial. To me, the New52 is nothing but a Funions-induced hallucination.

THERE WILL BE BOYXBOY SLASH! This is your final warning. So if you're not into that – complain to someone who hasn't warned you twice.

Like everyone else here, I do not own these precious darlings. Hence 'fan'fiction. . . BUT SOMEDAY!

* * *

A painfully sharp throb ribs through Tim's heart as Kon walks by the couch without sparing Tim even a passing glance. Two days. It had been *two* days now – and Kon hadn't said a single word to Tim. In fact, he'd been completely ignoring Tim – even going so far as to leave the room whenever Tim walks in. And that. . .that hurt Tim more than any physical wound ever could. He couldn't stand it anymore. His best friend, the one person he trusted more than anyone else in the universe(s), wouldn't even look at him! It had been tearing Tim apart inside, so he followed Kon when he left the room. He cleared his throat purposefully when Kon walked by. He tried his hardest to start some sort of conversation with the meta before Kon would just take off – face an emotionless void. He tried. . . up until this morning. Before, he thought maybe he could get through whatever barrier Kon had put up. And even if Kon wouldn't answer him, well. . . Well at least he could apologize. That *had* been the plan. But after this morning, after Tim had gently grabbed Kon's hand in a desperate attempt to keep him from walking out yet again, after Kon had forcefully ripped his hand away only to shoot it back at Tim, after Kon's fist had collided with Tim's cheek – sending the boy flying backwards and slamming into the wall, after Kon had walked out without batting an eye leaving Tim laying on the floor cradling the bruise already forming on his cheek. . . After this morning, Tim had given up. He was pretty sure that whatever they had ~ their friendship, their *bond* ~ was over. And it is all Tim's fault. He just HAD to try his luck – to try to make an already near-perfect. . . no, *perfect* thing 'better'. The only thing he did was manage to ruin one of the best things that ever happened to him. Tim shudders and pulls his knees closer to his chest – his watering eyes falling closed before squeezing tight with anguish.

"I never should have kissed him. . ." he half-whimpers under his breath, the fingers of his left hand subconsciously unlinking with those of his right hand to gently brush across the deep purple skin below his left eye.

* * *

So this is the prologue. You know what that means? YES! THERE'S MORE! For just two easy payments of $19.95. . . (( Or, ya know. . . a review? :3 ))

Tah for now, pigeons!


	2. Chance

I had this chapter already written, but I was in vacation mode and was therefore too lazy to even open my notebook to find it.

But now vacation is over – and I'm refreshed 'n ready to go! So here we have chapter two – enjoy.

* * *

Two days ago. . .

"Dude! You're totally cheating!" Kon's voice echoes through the Kent house – his wide grin canceling out whatever faint traces of animosity one might have mistaken in his tone. He leans forward, now nearly falling off the couch, and pokes his tongue out between his teeth as he focuses on the television screen. His fingers dance at almost blinding speed across the video game controller as he tries to win the game at least *once* today. But, considering his opponent, that is highly unlikely. Beside him, his shoulder pressed against Kon's side in a half-hearted attempt to shove him away from the TV, sits Tim – his blue eyes locked on the screen with equal intensity. "Being better isn't cheating – it's evolution. Survival of the fittest, Clone Boy."

Kon lets out a loud laugh at Tim's response – making Tim's heart swell with unbridled happiness. This, this right here, is perfect. Tim couldn't think of anything else in the world that could beat this moment. Well – no, that is a lie. He could think of *one* thing. . . He chances a quick glance at Kon and can't help but smile at the sheer concentration etched on the meta's face. But the concentration suddenly bursts into a mix of surprise and pride as Kon jumps into the air with a loud, "Yes!"

Tim jerks with surprise at the sudden explosion before snapping his gaze back to the screen – his smile melting into a frown as the big red letters flash 'Looser' on his side of the split screen. But he's soon smiling again, laughing under his breath as Kon basks in his victory.

"Finally! Let it be known that, on this day, I beat the Boy Wonder and his stupid video game!"

Tim chuckles and shakes his head, "Congrats. It only took you, what –" he glances over at the clock hanging on the living room wall, "Five hours?" At Tim's sarcasm, Kon simply beams brighter at his side's large green 'Winner' before pulling the smaller boy off the couch and into a chokehold.

"Yep. Five hours of hard work – and it paid off. Now if you excuse me: I'm starving." With that, he releases his grip on Tim - who falls back on the couch – and walks to the kitchen. Still chuckling, Tim stands up and shuts the system off. He momentarily debates putting everything away but decides not to – considering most of their sleepovers involve twelve plus hours of gaming. They hadn't even scratched the surface yet. So he heads to the kitchen practically right behind Kon. Yet when he opens the door, he finds the meta half-hidden in the refrigerator; and by the time he fully enters the kitchen, Kon turns with his arms already full of various sandwich-making materials. Tim laughs as Kon drops his findings unceremoniously to the countertop only to go shuffling through the kitchen – searching for more things to add to his collection. Tim grabs a glass off of the dish rack and fills it with water, grinning as he cocks an eyebrow.

"Plan on beating Bart's record?" he asks, eyeing the four different types of cheese, meat, and . . . peanut butter? the meta had scattered out before him – among other things. Kon only smirks greedily in response and begins working on his creation. With a roll of his eyes Tim downs his water and decides to leave the mad scientist to his work for the time being. He sets his glass down in the sink then turns and leans back against the counter behind Kon – his arms crossing over his chest. He subconsciously watches the boy before him with the same intensity – if not more than – he had used on the television screen just moments ago: his mind dancing with thought. Kon really was something. Tim smirks to himself as the half-pun 'out of this world' passes through his mind. Sure, Kon could be a bit. . .alright, 'a lot' dumb sometimes ~ but he always means well. It almost reminds Tim of a puppy – and that somehow adds to the amazingness that is Kon: in an endearingly adorable sort of way. . . Tim's throat clenches while his heart flutters at that thought – leaving him with a sickeningly wonderful feeling of . . . something – something great. . . something *amazing*. Nothing could describe Kon better – everything about him *is* amazing. Wonderful. Perfect. Except. . .

Tim bites his lip nervously as he drops his arms to the counter behind him – slowly pushing away with hesitant determination. He holds his breath as he gradually takes a step forward, than another – approaching Kon with the slow sort of cautiousness one usually reserves for wild animals. His heart flutters madly against his ribcage like a bird being watched by a cat: thrashing madly in its cage in an attempt to get out and fly to safety. Tim swallows hard - feeling like his heart had leaped into his throat trying to do just that. He doesn't know how Kon will react to what he is about to do. Despite signals he could have sworn the meta had been sending; despite all of Tim's years of wanting what was literally right in front of him but always just out of reach; despite their bond that felt so much stronger than just friendship. . . This could all blow up in Tim's face. But. . . no, he *has* to try. Has to see if things would change. Has to know. . .

Kon looks over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed with confusion, before he turns fully and grins down at Tim. "Decide you're hungry after all?" he chimes, and Tim's cheeks suddenly feel very warm. Was he really about to do this? Something in Tim's mind and gut screams for him to stop – pretend he came over to get a slice of cheese or a piece of bread or anything but what he really came over for – but Tim ignores it. He *has* to know.

Acting quickly so he doesn't have the time to talk himself out of it; Tim stands up on his toes, gently grabs Kon by the back of his neck, and pulls him close. Then, without a moment's hesitation, Tim presses his lips to Kon's. The kiss is gentle and brief – a simple grace, a voiceless question – before he pulls away. He drops back down to his heels and slackens his hand on Kon's neck, but doesn't let go. Blue eyes meet blue – one gaze full of desperate searching: begging for an answer to the soul-whispered question; and the other full of cloudy confusion. But the confusion slowly begins to melt into realization - and then the cloudy blue eyes begin to morph into a stormy glare: ice cold – unreadable. Tim's eyes instantly widen and his hand slides off of Kon's neck. His heart falls out of his throat and crashes like a rock to the pit of his stomach – all hopes of its escape thwarted at the prospect of the storm brewing in Kon's gaze. The question was answered: and it wasn't the response Tim wanted at all. . .

Stupid. How could he be so stupid? Why? Why couldn't he have just left it alone? Tim subconsciously takes a step back – forcefully biting back tears as he mentally berates himself for being such an idiot. He is a bat – he *knows* better than to let emotions direct judgment. He begins to wrack his mind, trying to think of some way, *any* way to fix this. And then an idea pops into his chaotic thoughts – a joke! He could pass it off as a joke! Just kidding around – no way could Kon be mad at him then, right? . . . right?

Tim takes another step back before letting one of his fake smiles flit across his features, an impish glint masking his heartbroken eyes. He forces a weak laugh to clear his throat from any potential cracks before chiming a rather convincing, "Got you. . ."

Confusion overcomes Kon's eyes once again – but the cold glare doesn't fade in the slightest. Tim momentarily reconsiders his plan, but as Kon speaks up, Tim has no choice but to continue the façade. "I. . . you. . . " Kon mutters as he lifts his hand to his face, slowly rubbing his bottom lip with the back of his hand as though to wipe it clean. Tim can tell it's a subconscious gesture – but it still speaks volumes about Kon's thoughts – and sends horrible tremors through Tim's already throbbing heart. Kon's frown deepens, "What do you mean, 'Got me'. . .?"

Tim keeps his smile from faltering with practiced precision – even his eyes refusing to betray the way he is slowly shattering inside. He laughs again before shrugging as nonchalantly as he can – the movements just a bit too jerky to be completely believable to anyone practiced in behavioral studies. But it's enough to trick Kon. Now he just needs to get his mind and mouth to work right. . . "I wanted to see how you'd react. After that conversation we'd had the other day - about guys and. . . what was it? Bromances or whatever?" Tim forces out another laugh to keep the emotion pushing at the back of his throat at bay, "I thought it would be funny."

Tim's heart somehow sinks even further as Kon's expression darkens. Kon clenches his fists at his sides, his gaze locking onto Tim's – and Tim begins to worry that the meta can see through his cover-up. Seconds tic by with all the force and stress of a thousand years before Kon finally speaks up – his voice low and gruff but impossible to read – fully emotionless, "It wasn't. . . Not at all. . ."

And then Tim feels sick, physically sick – and his mask almost falls away. But he makes it stay, clings to those last threads of panicked thought that still seem to think making the kiss out to be a joke is a good idea. Tim opens his mouth – a string of excuses that he doesn't believe already balancing on the tip of his tongue - ready to convince Kon that, really, it *is* funny. Hilarious. Hysterical. . .

But Kon cuts him off as he suddenly walks forward, shoving past Tim and continuing to the other side of the room. He stops at the kitchen door, turning his head – but not enough to face Tim – and he all but growls in a voice too calm, too. . . empty, "You know. . .I think you should leave. . .See ya. . ." And with that, Kon walks out – leaving Tim standing alone and broken in the middle of the room. He glances at the sandwich on the counter – fully forgotten – and finally lets a tear slide down his pale face. Then another, and another. . .Without another thought, he runs out of the house – down the driveway – across the street. . .He runs until he's fully hidden in the middle of a corn field. And there, he collapses to his knees and lets his tears fall freely. He ruined it. Any chance of ever having something more with Conner – it's gone. A sob wracks his thin frame as he realizes he might have ruined *everything* he had with Kon. Not just the chance he *could* have had - but also what they *did* have. What if Kon never spoke to him because of this? What if all of Tim's favorite memories become the only thing he has left of his best friend? They could never be the same again. . .

All because Tim *had* to see what would happen. . .

* * *

There ya have it. But we're not done yet!

Chapter three should be up in a week or two: but after that it may take me a while to update because there are two different ways I want this story to go – so I need to decide which one I plan on using. But that's what they invented coins for, aye?

Until next time, pigeons.


	3. Attempt

Oh my word! I can't apologize enough to you all for taking so long to post!

It seems like I suddenly got bombarded with everything life can dish out as soon as school started – and I have literally about four minutes to myself every night if I want to be in bed at a decent hour. Four minutes is *not* enough time to get a fanfic done.

However! - this week I put off doing some extra homework to get the next chapter done: and I am *really* pushing to get the following chapter up by the middle of next week at the latest to attempt to make up for my long absence this time.

I know, excuses excuses – but they're kind of good ones. . . right? Don't hate me? ~kitten cat eyes~

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this, there would be a lot more than just insinuated dialog for these babies.

* * *

"Yo Tim! You in there?" Bart's voice barely reaches Tim's ears through the heavy metal door – and it has an even harder time breaking through Tim's blank state of mind. In fact, by the time dull blue eyes finally blink and actually look at the door rather than fixating on a point that just so happened to be in the same general vicinity, Bart's footsteps are already racing away. Tim slowly lifts his head, recognition just now working its way into his eyes as he continues to stare at the door in an almost confused sort of daze – as though he expects something to happen. Then, all at once, life ghosts over his dead stare and a low, rasping sigh accompanies the slow drop of his chin back to his knees. He stares at the bed sheets for a moment, the vacant fog once again creeping into the stormy-blue sky of his eyes, before he quickly clamps said eyes shut tight. An almost-sob wracks his hunches shoulders, but no tears join the silence-shattering sound. He had used all of those last night

Another sigh cuts through the heavy silence of his empty room as he turns his head just enough to see the sun through the window that is his bedroom wall. '9:00 A.M.' something mutters in the back of his mind: the voice as dead as his gaze. He doesn't dare turn to check his alarm clock, though – not with the picture resting on his nightstand – not with an image of himself and Kon grinning, _mocking_ him and his pathetic state, from within the wooden frame. 'Seven hours.' the voice points out unhelpfully, earning another short whimper from Tim as he shuts his eyes and buries his face against his knees. He had been sitting here for seven hours. Had been staring at empty space, wallowing in self-pity for seven hours. After wandering aimlessly last night, he had decided to just spend the night in the tower –after all, where else did he have? If he went to Gotham, Dick would know something was wrong. School was out for the summer. His house. . .even more empty than when he was little. – So he arrived at the tower at two in the morning following the belief that things would seem better after a good night's sleep. Or. . .a good morning's sleep.

Yet, even after all this time, he had accomplished nothing. No sleep. No paperwork. No training. . .Normally he would be appalled by the very idea. So many things to do – and he was just sitting there? What would Bruce think? But right now. . .he doesn't care. At all. Not about anything. He's just. . .

Empty.

But that small voice in the back of his mind saw the sun – knows it is past six – and now refuses to let Tim's mind remain blessedly void. 'You need to get up; do something. Sitting here won't solve anything. And besides, someone might think something's wrong. Then they'll want to talk – want you to tell them what's wrong. Want to confront the cause. . .'

And that's finally enough to get Tim up. He moves slowly, as though it's painful, but eventually he is standing and stretching beside his bed. After a series of cricks and stiff muscles fade away with a few loud pops, Tim allows his shoulders to slump over – as though he's carrying a very heavy weight – and he slowly walks across his room. He turns on the sink the moment he enters the bathroom, following that tiny voice's advice about trying to get the red out of his eyes.

Bart is down in the kitchen – talking at auctioneer speed to Cassie about some sort of comic book character, from what Tim can tell. Cassie seems more or less bored, or maybe just tired - but on her behalf, she looks like she's *trying* to feign interest. As Tim walks in, though, Cassie looks away from the speedster and shoots Tim a warm smile. As Bart notices the smile, he pauses and looks over his shoulder – his confused frown instantly growing into a similar grin as he waves at the black haired vigilante, only to turn around a moment later and jump right back into his story. Tim forces a tiny smile and shrugs his shoulders in response to Cassie's eyeroll before quickly walking into the living room. He is almost positive that, if he so much as tried to participate in conversation right now, they'd figure out something was wrong. Although the moment he spots the couch – or rather, the figure sitting on it – he really wishes he had stayed in the kitchen.

But just as Tim means to turn around and sneak back, Kon lifts his eyes from whatever he had been reading and stares directly at Tim – dispelling any hopes for retreat. Tim swallows hard, fully relieved that he had run out of tears as an all-too-familiar uncomfortable sort of stiffness seizes his throat and threatens to choke him.

". . .Morning. . ." Tim manages to croak out – his voice only betraying him for a moment before the broken tone evens out into his usual steady, monotonous tone. He coughs softly, hoping Kon mistakes the crack as common morning disuse, before opening his mouth to continue. Before he can get a word out, though, Kon all but throws the pile of papers in his hand onto the table and stands up; making Tim jerk ever so slightly as his muscles tense and his mind wheels with panic. He isn't ready for a confrontation. Not yet. . .

Luckily, that wasn't what Kon had in mind.

Unfortunately, what he had in mind was worse.

Still completely silent, Kon walks across the room and right past Tim – as though he isn't even there. And Tim can't do anything but stand there, staring at the ground feeling. . . hurt? Betrayed? . . ._Empty. . ._He hears Cassie's voice call a cheery 'Morning' – and as Kon responds in an equally lighthearted tone Tim begins to cave in on himself.

**Kon wasn't upset. He was mad. At Tim. . .**

He continues to stand there, staring unseeing at the ground as he listens to the calm laughter in the next room. He tries to convince himself that they're not laughing at him – that it's absurd to think so – but the bright and easy tone of the voices sliding in from the next room throw such a stark contrast against the harsh beat of Tim's breathing _– When had he started breathing so heavily? –_ that he can't help but think of it as some sort of malicious joke. One big joke. . ._I thought it would be funny._'

**And he had every right to be. . .**

* * *

They spent the entirety of yesterday in complete avoidance. If Tim entered a room, Kon left – a sickening reenactment of the morning played over and over again. Yet at the same time, Tim had been avoiding the meta to the best of his abilities. He couldn't speak to Kon – not yet. What do you say to the one man you've ever loved after your more or less declared your love as one stupid little joke?

However, despite the way his heart felt like a punched mirror, cracking and shattering every time Kon walked away, Tim felt strangely okay with this. It gave him time to think and space to think in. But sometimes thinking *isn't* the best thing. He began to think about almost anything *but* Kon – which left him thinking about Dick. And Bruce. And how silence like this – this total avoidance – was the default method of dealing with problems back in Gotham.

And that's when Tim knew he had to confront Kon.

He actually got some sleep last night. Who knew a day of avoiding your best friend could be so tiring? True, it was only three hours of sleep – but that's something. But his eternal alarm clock refused to let him waste two perfectly good mornings. So, after waking up at six and getting a bit of work done – including a shower – Tim was downstairs in the kitchen drinking his third cup of coffee by the time Kon walked, yawning, into the room. Tim ignores the way his heart begins to thump at an uncomfortable rate as he slowly sets his cup down on the table and clears his throat. Kon freezes instantly – his yawn stopping abruptly as he snaps his eyes open and stares –_glares-_ at Tim. Their eyes meet for less than a second – torn apart as Kon turns and moves to walk out of the room. But Tim has other plans.

"Conner." he says softly as he pushes away from the table and stands in one graceful motion – making sure to use his 'Robin' voice to keep all emotion hidden. The tone makes Kon pause for a moment, more out of habit than anything else, but it's a pause nonetheless. Step one completed. Tim uses the opportunity to quickly walk around the table and approach Kon – who at that point decides he doesn't feel like standing still anymore. Just as Tim reaches him, the meta slips out of the room – walking at a pace a bit too quick to be considered casual: just like yesterday. Unlike yesterday, though, Tim follows.

With every step, Tim can feel his resolve weakening. His plan, carefully plotted out and rehearsed for the past four hours he had been awake, seems overly risky and pointless. By the time they reach the hallway leading to Kon's room, Tim is wondering why he ever thought approaching Kon first was a good idea.

So, when he finally convinces himself to say something – to at least *attempt* to stick to the plan – his voice comes out as soft and unsure as it had been the day before: only this time, he had no excuse for the small breaks in his tone,

"Kon – please. I know you're mad – but this, completely ignoring me, isn't going to solve anything." Tim almost holds his breath as he waits for a response from the figure in front of him. But after several seconds of receiving nothing but a tensing of the meta's shoulders, Tim sighs and decides to try again. "Just acknowledge that I'm talking to you, at least that Conner, *please*. . ." A small flutter of hope works its way into Tim's chest as Kon's posture seems to give slightly at the small boy's all-but-begging. But that hope is almost instantly squashed as Kon once again answers with nothing but heavy silence as he opens the door to his room. The meta steps through the doorway, shoulders tensing again as his hands ball into fists at his sides – and Tim can hear the warning bells going off in his head. But he can't find it in himself to care. Hell, at this point, he would be HAPPY if Kon turned around and yelled at him. It would be better than this! Tim ducks into the room and steps in front of Kon before the meta can process what's happening. Kon hesitates for a moment – but only a moment – before he shoves past Tim and makes his way over to his closet. Tim stumbles, only just managing to keep from falling over, and quickly turns to watch the other boy vanish behind the door. Tim waits for a moment, letting the light screech of hangers dragging across the metal bar fill the void, before he swallows and starts again.

"I know you don't want to talk to me right now – but we need to. I didn't. . . I was just kidding around. I didn't mean anything by it – If I had known it would bother you so much. . ." Tim actually manages to keep his voice fairly steady; and the sound of Kon ripping some article of clothing off of a hanger with a bit more force than necessary proves that : while he may not be responding, or even listening, at least the meta is *hearing* what he has to say. Again, better than nothing. Tim waits again, biting his bottom lip as he waits for Conner's reaction, whatever that may be. But as the meta walks out of the closet - now dressed in his usual ensemble - and straight towards the door, Tim realizes he has to *make* Kon listen if he wants to get anywhere with this conversation. So, just as Conner steps around Tim, Tim reaches out a hand and gently but pointedly grabs the meta's upper arm in an attempt to stop his retreat. He wouldn't let him walk out, not again – not without saying what he needed to say. Even if he wasn't sorry for his actions, he was sorry for the outcome – sorrier than he had ever been in his life – and maybe telling Kon that would fix things.

But he doesn't get a chance to find out if it will or not. The moment he grabs Kon's arm, he feels the muscles tense dangerously and the warning bells all but scream for him to back off. Now. But by the time he really registers the signs it's too late. He only just sees Kon's fist flying at him before a sharp pain erupts on the left side of his face. His ears ring and his vision blurs out; and when life finally comes back into focus, he finds himself lying on the floor a good eight feet away from where he'd been standing. He gasps for breath, the wind knocked out of him, and slowly lifts his dazed eyes to Kon. Shocked, hurt blue-gray meets equally shocked yet angry electric blue for a fraction of a second before Kon suddenly walks out of the room without a word – leaving Tim to push himself up on shaking arms.

Kon didn't. . .That didn't just happen. . .No – no, it was an accident. Or. . .or something. . .

Tim stares wide eyed at the ground between his hands – his bottom lip quivering. 'You don't accidently punch someone.' that voice pipes up. A small shudder runs along his spine, and he can't help but wince at the small sting of pain that causes in his back. Had he hit the wall? Had there been that much force in the punch? Tim slowly sits back, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him – his not-quite-there gaze staring blankly at the spot where Kon had been.

At least. . .at least he wasn't completely ignoring him anymore. That was worth something, right?

Tim slowly touches his throbbing cheek, small trails of fresh, warm tears snaking around his trembling fingers.

**. . . Right?**

* * *

I hope that was worth the wait. And again, I'm sooo sorry.

Like I said, I hope to have chapter four up by the middle of next week – but I can't make any promises. Except that I promise it won't take as long as it did this time.

But thank you so much for being so patient and thank you for the reviews – they really make my day and help me to know if I'm giving ya'll what you want! Feel free to keep those up! Haha.

Until again, pigeons.


	4. Concern

After several more months than I intended, I (finally) bring you chapter 4!

And, as usual, I'm so *so* sorry for taking so long. x.x'' October through December are big-time birthday/holiday/no time to sit down and work on things in silence months. And then school and sports and college preparation and AAAAA! ( that is the sound of oncoming insanity )

But I made myself finish this chapter before schoolwork tonight – because it should have been done months ago. Not to mention, Jason keeps sneaking into every single fic I write. I'm pretty sure my Jason muse has laid claims on my Tim muse and, therefore, has scared my Kon muse away. That is the best explanation I have right now. But! JasonMuse is now locked in a jewelry box so I can work on the next chapters in peace.

So here it is! Mild-angst and big brother cuddles are nigh!

Disclaimer: Still don't own them. . .yet.

* * *

Dick isn't going to lie – he's worried about Tim. Usually the newest Robin seems overly excited to go to Titans Tower; readily accepting any excuse to visit. And really, Dick can't blame him. His time with the Titans had composed some of his best memories. Young Justice is to Tim what the Titans were to Dick. Teammates. Friends. Family. But suddenly, Tim doesn't seem to want anything to do with the team. Not since he returned to Gotham late last Friday, sporting a rather nasty bruise on the left side of his face. Dick had thought it was from some sort of mission or a training session gone wrong and dismissed it entirely. But now – now he was starting to doubt those theories.

Mainly because it has been a week and two days since Tim returned to the manor and, rather than looking for any possible reason to return to his team, Tim seems determined to never leave Gotham again. But more than that, Tim seems. . . off. He's been a bit different ever since Jack's death – but not quite like this. He rarely leaves his room, for starters. And when he does, he is quiet. And not the usual, self-conscious and shy 'Tim' quiet. It's a stiff, uncomfortable quiet. The mourning sort of quiet. It would be hard to notice, even for skilled detectives, but Dick *knows* Tim; and so he knows something is wrong.

Contrary to popular belief, Dick is no idiot. He had been busier than usual this week so it took him more time than it should have to put two and two together, but he thinks he knows what's going on now. Black eye, brooding, reluctance to go to the tower:

There had been a fight.

Now with whom and over what, Dick has no idea. But he knows how to find out. Which is why he is currently standing outside of Tim's room – hand hovering above the door knob as he debates knocking first or simply walking in. And he may or may not be delaying his final decision in order to stall the inevitable confrontation. Because team fights are. . . tricky. And a very, very touchy subject. And because of that, Dick would normally just leave something like this alone – let whoever is involved work it out by themselves. But this is Timmy. *His* Timmy. And watching him mope about the manor – and it *is* moping, no matter how many times Tim puts on that stupid fake smile and assures everyone that he's 'Just fine' – is the equivalent of watching someone senselessly kick a puppy over and over again: heartbreaking and completely depressing. So Dick decided it is time to intervene – although he really has no idea what he plans to say. Ask if Tim is alright? Okay, A) it's obvious that he isn't and B) he would just get another lie. Ask who he needs to beat up? That could work. . . Although, based on Tim's current mood, he may just have to follow through with that threat upon finding out who hurt his baby brother. Maybe just ask if he needs to talk? Ha! Right – the kid can be a mini-Bruce when he wants to. Sometimes you would think you were asking them to done a major organ rather than attempting to strike up a conversation.

But Tim *needs* to talk. He needs to open up and let someone in. Because if he doesn't, Dick knows he will continue to get worse – even if that seems impossible at this point. So Dick reminds himself that he is, in fact, the adult in this situation, and raps a 'Shave and a Haircut' beat on the door. Tim, ever the prompt, answers with a soft 'come in' almost instantly – and Dick pretends he doesn't feel a small wave of disappointment hit him because of that. It isn't that he doesn't want to talk to Tim, he just hoped that maybe he could put it off just a little longer. But he's here now – and it's for the best. He takes a deep breath and puts on what he hopes looks like a casual smile before turning the handle and stepping into the room. It's dark – almost completely. The only light comes from the laptop sitting in on the bed in front of Tim.

"Hey Timmy. Can we talk?" Dick asks, blinking as his eyes adjust to the dim light. He internally winces as he catches the small smile spreading across the younger boy's face: the one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. The one that he had been wearing for the past nine days.

"Of course. What about?" Tim answers, voice almost cheery as he pulls his hands away from the keyboard and drops them into his lap. If Dick didn't know any better, he might actually believe that Tim is as okay as he pretends to be. Too bad for Tim, though, he *does* know better.

"Can't a guy just want to chat with his kid brother?" he chimes as he pulls the door shut and walks further into the room. As he does, he takes note of the way Tim watches him with careful, calculating eyes. 'He knows something is up. Be on guard.' Dick thinks to himself as he makes his way to the bed and falls onto his back behind the cross-legged Robin. He then rolls over to his side and uses his arm to prop up his head as he peers at the data running across Tim's screen. "Whatcha up to?"

Tim shrugs and slides his laptop back to where it was before Dick's fall bounced it a few inches forward – his fingers instantly returning to their rapid typing as he answers, "Running some scenarios. Nothing important – just passing some time."

He seems so robotic. Like he is functioning on autopilot. And this is what Dick was afraid of. Tim tends to shut himself off when things happen. If he can't handle it, he just lets go of everything and sets his mind on one task to keep himself from focusing on his problems. And right now, that task is scenarios. And from the looks of it, that has been the task since Friday. Meaningless numbers running across a cold screen while he sits alone in a dark room. 'Coping.'

Dick lets a frown cross his face before he quickly sits up and throws his arms over Tim's shoulders, wrapping the small teenager into an awkward hug. The action entices a little gasp from the boy, and Dick takes that as a first of many small victories he hopes to accomplish before the night ends. With a fake smile of his own and a small laugh, Dick hums out, "Scenarios? Really? That sounds like the lamest possible way to spend your evening. No wonder you're always brooding - your social life sucks."

"It's not - This is a perfectly adequate way to spend my time." Timmy responds, almost indignant. And hey, that's an improvement - he is showing honest emotion. But not enough. So Dick snorts and ruffles Tim's hair, earning a small sound of protest as he tries to struggle out of Dick's iron-clad hug. "At least I'm doing something useful - like *not* annoying someone who is obviously busy." Dick would normally laugh at the 'insult' - but the usual joking force isn't behind it. He can tell Tim just wants him to leave him alone; leave him alone and let him go back to being a robot. Well - not on Dick's watch.

"So you would rather sit here and watch the boring version of The Matrix rather than hang out with your awesome big brother? I'm hurt, Tim, I really am. Here, make it up to me." Dick hums with a small grin as he stands, easily scooping up the smaller vigilante bridal-style as he does. Tim outright yelps at this - his arms reflexively lacing around Dick's neck. But no more than a second later he seems to realize what he is doing and a blush spreads across his face like wildfire through a dry prairie. He drops his arms and shifts, as though to break free from Dick's hold - but Dick will have none of that. He holds Tim tighter as he turns and walks to the door. He begins to worry slightly as the boy remains uncharacteristically pliant to such babying - but he feels the fading smile on his face brighten as Tim's confused, wary, and somewhat annoyed voice asks, "Uh. . .Dick? Is there a reason why you are carrying me across the threshold and out of my room?"

"Sure is, kiddo. It's called 'You are sixteen years old and shouldn't be sitting in your room alone running scenarios of all things.' It's a disease. Little geniuses are very susceptible. The only known remedy is video games."

It only takes Tim a moment to catch on before he finally lets out a sigh. And Dick's heart sinks because he knows that sigh. It's the 'I know I'm about to disappoint you but I can't help it' sigh. Tim is going to turn down the offer - and then Dick will have to outright confront Tim about his problems. That method rarely works with the youngest of the Bat brood. But at this point, that's all he has.

But then Tim looks up at him with a grin - the same empty, false one but a grin nonetheless - and chimes, "Fine. If you're prepared for a long night of 'My younger brother just embarrassed me.'." And Dick forces a smile and an all-out laugh past his ever-sinking heart and ever-growing concern. Progress, he reminds himself – this is progress. Slow progress, but progress all the same. And, if nothing else, this is better than letting Tim lock himself in his room. So he laughs and unceremoniously dumps Tim onto the couch as he snickers,

"Challenge accepted, little brother. Get ready to eat those words."

* * *

This one's a little bit shorter – but the next one is already about halfway done. I won't say when I'll post it because I'm pretty sure that jinxes me, but I swear it will be soon.

Thank you for reading and please review! Reviews make me happy. c:

'Til again, pigeons.


	5. Comfort

And it's been way too long yet again. x.x'

First off, I want to give a super huge thank you to Supernova95 who is the most darling of people and made art inspired by the fic! That can be found here – (remove spaces)

supernova2395. tumblr post/35522837189 /preferred-this- background

I would also like to thank you all for your reviews! They are the drive that makes me get myself in gear and work on the story. They also significantly brighten my day and are just overall fantastic. Thank you!

So - I'll put more notes at the bottom: for now, let's get right to the story, yeah?

* * *

Tim tries to focus on the game, on his character, on Dick's banter. He tries to keep his mind occupied with anything **but** thinking. Thinking about what could have happened. Thinking about what he should and shouldn't have done. Thinking about how he hasn't played video games since. . .

He can almost pretend everything is okay. That he's just back in Gotham for the weekend. That this whole ordeal had simply been a dream.

A nightmare.

But it's not. He wakes up every morning to the same brutal reality: he ruined one of the greatest aspects of his life. Lost one of his best friends – his *more* than best friend – because he was too greedy to just leave it be. And only in his dreams will he ever get back what once was.

But- no. He can't focus on that, not right now. Dick is here right now, not Kon. And he's trying considerably hard to cheer Tim up. Tim knows what Dick's doing. He knew this would happen eventually and is almost surprised it hadn't happened sooner. Dick knows something is bothering Tim and is trying to fix it the way Dick knows how. And Tim appreciates it, really he does. But he just doesn't want it right now. He wants to be left alone. That's how Bruce lets him deal with things. That's how his parents let him deal with things. That's how he's always dealt with things. But Dick is different. He always has been – and everyone knows that. Which is why Tim had been so reluctant to return to Gotham _that_ night. But after Kon – after he –

Tim's almost-healed cheek tingles. After **that** he had to leave the tower. Not forever. He'll go back. . .eventually.

But for now, he needs time to think about things. Space to separate things. Solitude to work things out.

But Dick refuses to give him any of that. He refuses out of good intention, of course, but nonetheless. . .

"That's two out of three, Dick. You said-"

"I didn't expect it to be this quick, though." Dick counters as he quickly brings up the 'Next Round' menu – finger hovering over the 'Start'. "Just a few more games, Timmers, c'mon. What's the point in passing time if you're only going to pass a couple of minutes?"

"It's been almost two hours. . ." Tim replies, scarcely suppressing a sigh and quickly covering it up with a barely believable smirk as he sets his controller on the table. "That's kind of a lot of time."

Dick looks at him with an expression of half-fake yet half-real hurt as he exaggeratedly pouts and huffs, "But Tiiiiim – I was going easy on you to be nice. Let's go one more round – I'll play for real this time and prove that I'm far superior in all things video game. And then we can be done."

Tim shakes his head; a forced laugh bubbling past his lips as he unwillingly reaches for his discarded controller. Dick's trying – he doesn't deserve Tim's mood. After all, it's not Dick's fault all of this happened in the first place. The least Tim can do is convince him that he's alright, even if they both know he's not.

"Alright, fine. One more game so you can, prove you're the superior whatever." Tim attempts to mirror Dick's almost-too-wide grin as he sits back with his controller.

"You sound so convinced." Dick laughs as he presses 'Start' – sending the game back into a motion of colors and music. Tim laughs again, this one sounding almost genuine, as he quips back,

"I can't help but be skeptic. I'm obviously the better player here." Dick's laugh echoes around the room before the older Robin leans forward with a snorted, "We'll see."

They fall back into a comfortable sort of silence – the sounds of the game, the clicking of the controllers, and the occasional smack-talking easily replacing any attempt at conversation. But Tim isn't putting his all into playing video games – and he knows Dick isn't either. He can feel Dick's stare every now and then – can see Dick glancing out of the corner of his eye when he thinks Tim isn't looking. Dick is worried, that much is obvious. He knows something is bothering Tim and Tim would wager to guess that Dick has already more or less pieced together some of the details of what that something is. But Tim would also guess that, fortunately, Dick hasn't figured out the finer points yet. And that's a small comfort.

He wonders what Dick would say if he told him what happened. He would probably tell him it wasn't completely his fault or that he could still fix things or that Kon will get over it or something like that. Dick has a tendency to tell soft lies that make people feel better. He also does a really good job at making said people believe them. But, at the same time, Tim worries that Dick would laugh at him. Not cruelly – but like a big brother. 'You did what? Tim, come on – why did you think that would work?' or 'Superboy? Of all people – really? Geeze, little brother, I never pegged you for. . .Can I tell Bruce?' Or even worse. What if Dick agrees with him? What if he voices Tim's thoughts of self-blame and regret. Tim knows it's true: knows it's his fault, knows he shouldn't have done anything, knows it was selfish and greedy and stupid and wrong and-

But if Dick agrees – if Dick says the things that have been beating at Tim's heart and mind relentlessly for the past few days – if Dick tells him he's probably right. . .that makes it all seem much more real. And then where would Tim run from this? He can't fight this – it's not an enemy or a fear. It's a new reality. One he forged himself yet cannot face. The only thing *to* do is run. . .But he's done that. He doesn't have many places to go. If Dick agrees – if Dick tells Tim the obvious: that it was a bad decision, that he knows better, that there is no fixing this – then Tim would have nowhere else to hide from this mess he made.

"Tim. . .What's wrong?"

The voice cuts through the silent room as well as Tim's thoughts like a knife. Dick's voice is soft – sad. It's slow and final: gently demanding the truth in a way that asks like a statement. Not 'Is something wrong' but 'I know something is wrong – tell me what it is.' The question snaps the room back into focus – Tim hadn't even realized he zoned out – and he finds himself staring at a paused screen. He can't remember when it had been paused: his few seconds of delay must have finally pushed Dick past skipping around the topic they both had been avoiding all night. But Tim's not ready to go there, yet. Not ready to face whatever reaction Dick might have. So, instead, he plasters on another practiced smile and presses play,

"Nothing – except for the fact that you're beating me by twenty points."

But Tim frowns as 'Paused' winks at him from the screen once more. He can feel his resolve weakening – his mind going into a panic. He can't have this conversation. He's not ready for it. _No no no no – Dick, just press play. Just play games – I don't want reality right now. I can't. . ._

"Tim. . ." Dick breathes his name out, practically pleading for the truth that he already knows. But Tim cuts him off before he can get any further. Tim's dam is too close to breaking – he can't even look at Dick right now for fear of cracking under his brother's stare.

"Nothing." Tim accentuates, his eyes never leaving the screen. He takes a deep, nearly-shuddering breath and forces himself to talk past the crack trying to form in his voice. "I'm fine, Dick, I just-"

And then he cuts off – he can't talk past the lump in his throat anymore. _Nonono! Not here – not now!_ An involuntary sob – soft and almost completely soundless but a sob just the same – cuts out instead. And with that, Dick's arms are instantly wrapped around the younger Robin.

Despite how much he wants to pretend he's fine – pretend it was just an awkward breath or the beginnings of a cough – Tim feels himself melt into the hold without his consent. His body reaches out for physical touch after days of emotional abuse. He clings to Dick and finally lets his walls fall – his body shakes and shudders wrack his breathing. All the while, Dick softly shushes him and hums words of encouragement as he lets Tim cling to him. He feels fingers softly card through his hair as Dick's voice melts against him.

"It's okay, Tim. You don't have to tell me, not if you don't want to, but I'm here, okay? It will be okay. . ."

And even though Tim knows it's not true – even though Tim knew Dick would comfort him with these sorts of lies, Tim lets himself believe. Just for a moment – just for now. Wrapped in the safety of his brother's embrace, Tim tells him everything he's ruined. Everything that won't be okay. Everything that won't **be** ever again. And all through it, if Tim ever shed any tears, neither of them took any notice.

And Dick didn't lie to him. Dick didn't laugh at him. Dick didn't agree with him. When it was all said and done, Dick hugged him tight and told him,

"It is okay, little brother. I'm still here. I'll be here until you're ready to go back."

And for the first time in days, Tim's practically nonexistent smile was genuine.

* * *

So there we have it. And look - a sliver of hope in mass of angst that is this fic!

Now: I apologize, again, for not updating sooner. The thing is, my focus has really shifted from TimxKon to TimxJason. I still ship Tim and Kon, of course, but not nearly as much as I did when this fic started. So it's a bit difficult to change mindsets and work on this story. Not to mention, I just finished up my Senior year in High School and things got insanely busy with Senior nights and honors nights and graduation and all that symbolic whatnot. It was crazy.

On that note, though, the next chapter *is* one hundred percent done – but it's missing. But the moment I find it, I will post it. Promise.

Also: I have a tumblr where I randomly post fanfiction from time to time. My url is quoth-the-robin. So, if you're interested, feel free to find me there. c:

But anyways, that wraps things up for now. Thank you for reading and please review!

'Til again, pigeons.


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